


Past is Past

by Spinning Place (buttercups3)



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Honeymoon, Smut, Virgin sex, spoilers for 5.08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2651450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/Spinning%20Place
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony fights off vague demons while getting acquainted with his new wife, Mabel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past is Past

For a wobbly, unsettling moment, the busy crimson and gold of the Persian rug flip flop with the eggshell ceiling and threaten Tony’s equilibrium. He braces both hands on the edge of the mattress, grateful to be grounded on something (his soon-to-be-marriage bed). Too much champagne at the wedding, he attempts to reassure himself. Not what the dry lump in the back of his throat betrays. (Nerves.) How could it be when Tony felt no such anxiety awaiting his lover in Liverpool? His lover who did not love him. He waits now for what is entirely secure: his adoring, admiring wife.

If it’s possible to get one’s fingers ensnared in one’s own tie whilst unknotting it, it happens to Tony. Undressing—his (simple) task while Mabel prepares her toilet in secret. She insisted, though he felt it more natural for them to do it together as they will night after night into time, as long as it holds them in its somber, clicking hands. _Tonight is special_ , she began to whisk away in a cloud of merriment and—what _is_ that scent, a world away from Mary’s lavender haze— _autumn_? Crushed leaves and spice, portending the great dimming or, perhaps, wisdom. Either way, it’s Tony’s favorite season. He’s always been a mawkish sort.

In any case, Tony caught her elbow before she absconded to ask what deepened both their cheeks to scarlet: “Mabel… am I your first?”

She swatted him away with a hushed, “Of course!” as if her mother down the hall, already hours in bed and surely asleep, could hear. Yes, Mabel is a novice tonight and needs him fully present. Enough of the pearl-white skin and razor hipbones that for months claimed his wanton subconscious like ether. _Enough of you, Mary_.

And so he has this added layer of responsibility: to caringly initiate Mabel into the world of men. If he were to disappoint her, he’s not certain he’d survive it. The fire offers an explosive pop, casting out a tiny ember that a less weary man would stamp out but Tony watches fade to black.

How dearly he missed his father and brothers today. Squeezing his eyes shut he tries to conjure suitable advice for a new husband and comes up short. _Don’t disappoint her_ is all his niggling mind can offer.

By the time a gentle rap at his inner door startles him, he’s only just managed to pull on his royal-blue pajama trousers and his robe. Padding across the cold floor barefoot, he opens the door on the beaming, heart-faced Mabel, a pale pink shawl draped over a satiny, white slip.

As a smile slowly claims his lips, he greets, “Hello, Lady Gillingham.”

Melting into a hearty laugh, she steps forward into his arms, as he plants a kiss on her curly crown.

“It sounds so formal, so-”

“-like my mother?”

“Indeed!” She rises to her tiptoes for a kiss before leading him to the paired armchairs in front of the fire. Plopping in one with a sigh, she waits for him to sit before resting one chilly foot and then the other in his lap. She starts at an explosion of ember and lays a hand on her breast, laughing.

“Dear me, I’m positively worn out from all the dancing.” Tony gently rubs along the delicate bones of her instep and smiles, drifting. “That feels exquisite, darling. Don’t stop!” she implores.

Eyes crinkling at her, he massages the round of her anklebone and hums, “The Man I Love,” absentmindedly. He thinks he detects nerves behind Mabel’s false bravado as she prattles on about her bridesmaids. Nevertheless, he’s grateful for her characteristic chattiness, as it’s keeping his mind from wandering to the vulnerability shortly required of him.

“Catherine suggested you might be a fortune hunter!” Mabel’s bell of a laugh tugs at his attention.

Tony tries to grin, but failing, reaches over to pull Mabel by the tiny hand directly into his lap. She perches there on his thighs, warm and soft in his arms. He kisses her bare shoulder where her shawl has slipped, then leans his cheek pensively where his lips have been.

“You know I’d never marry for anything but love.”

“Oh, _I_ know. That’s why you thrust me aside for Lady Mary and her crumbling estate the first time around.”

Tony frowns. “Well, I love you, and I’m very grateful you gave me a second chance.” To her deep green eyes he telegraphs sincerity, which she brushes aside, refusing to let storm clouds gather over their night.

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds far better than the fact that I was actually your second choice and had to woo you back myself.” She grins and pats his cheek, already roughening in preparation for his nightly beard.

“Any man would be lucky to have you as his wife. Please forgive me for the pain I put you through.”

“Tony, there’s nothing to forgive,” Mabel assures briskly. Her eyes instruct him once again that she wants to move on.

As she strokes her finger through his curls, he catches them and pulls her downward for a long, sweet kiss. She tastes of champagne and sugar from their cake. He’s ever so relieved to feel himself stirring against her bottom. Of course he’s attracted to his wife: she’s beautiful and clever and, unlike Mary, has a way of disarming his melancholy.

Mabel rubs against him rhythmically, perhaps getting used to him, as she absent-mindedly traces his earlobe with a finger.

Sounding rather strained, he whispers against her lips, “I’ll try to be very gentle tonight, dearest, but you must let me know if I make you uncomfortable.”

When she buries her face in his neck, he squeezes her tighter, both their hearts beating fast.

She vibrates under his ear, “Catherine also warned me that a man of your size could be a challenge.”

Rubbing his cheek in her hair with a scratchy sound, he observes, “Catherine doesn’t exactly sound my biggest proponent.”

“She helped me through your rejection of me. You’re right that she doesn’t seem to understand why I wanted you back so badly.”

He cups her chin and guides her face to his. “Why did you?”

Mabel bites back a smile. “Because you’re the finest man I’ve ever known.”

Tony exhales, his eyes unfocusing.

“No, don’t scoff,” Mabel slides her delicate fingers onto his cheeks and forces him to look into her earnest eyes. “I feel the change in you—the way she hurt you and sapped your confidence. Let me, let our marriage, restore you.”

Tony rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. “Please, let us not talk of _her_ , Mabel. You’re right that I’ve changed: I’m wiser. I just want to make love to my enchanting wife on our wedding night and forget the past.”

Her lips find his and they quietly taste each other, the fire popping madly beside them, Tony’s erection now considerable enough between them that they have to reposition around it. His right hand trails down her neck to her chest, heaving beneath his fingers in desire. Mabel shrugs off her robe, and they both watch rapt as he traces her nipple through the thin satin of her slip, while she explores the muscles of his chest and stomach beneath his robe.

Staring down at the bulge in his pajama trousers, she arches an eyebrow, and he nods. Gingerly she fingers him through the loose fabric, and he sucks in air. Her touch is maddeningly light. When she braves beneath his waistband to rest her fingers on his tip, he jumps at her touch. It infuriates him that his mind leaps to Mary’s long, strong fingers gliding up and down his shaft—how she could work him up incredibly fast, but it didn’t matter if he came. They’d simply begin all over again, never tiring of the sticky, sweaty mess they made. Dammit.

“Tony, am I… is it okay?”

Dear God, his face. What has his face been doing? His wife is touching him for the first time, and he’s drifted to another woman. Focus.

“Yes, it’s good. You can be quite firm, actually,” he assures her and wraps his hand over hers, guiding her in longer, fuller strokes. She watches his instruction hungrily. Mary never looked at him like that. She regarded him in lust but not wonder. He’s worshipped in this space. Be grateful. Lose yourself in this gift of a woman.

Once Mabel gets the hang of it, he doesn’t have to fight the apparition of Mary anymore; she fizzles in his pleasure. His early arousal dribbles over Mabel’s slender fingers, and he closes his eyes on the image, biting his bottom lip against a grunt, still holding something back but allowing soothing warmth to bear him toward his edge nonetheless. It’s not until she gets overzealous with his tip that he covers her hand with his once more to stay her.

“Better stop,” he smiles at her, opening his eyes on her rather reluctant acquiescence.

“Mmm,” she sighs, withdrawing her hand and smoothing it over his chest. “I suppose I’ve learnt how to bring my dreamy husband back into the moment.” With a quirk of her eyebrow, she abandons his lap completely, leaving cold the exposed parts of him. “I want to see all of you, Tony,” she gestures, hugging her shoulders against the draft.

Despite his current state of dishabille, a wave of nerves grips him as he discards his loosened robe and bends momentarily to kick aside his trousers. When he does look up, her fingers are tented over an enormous smile, the fire casting shadows over her elegant features. Then she begins giggling.

He shakes his head. “I hope you’re not laughing at me!”

“Certainly not! I’m… oh dear me, I’m giddy!”

Tony chuckles with her, still a bit uncertain. His naked body feels grotesquely large in contrast to her petite frame. “Your turn,” he urges.

Obediently she lifts her arms skyward, and he crosses over to where their mutual warmth intermingles again, tugging upward on the supple fabric, relishing the gentle round of her bosom as he passes over her dainty curves.

She’s completely naked now, and he allows the sight to steal his breath away. Her creamy skin is luminous, dotted with the occasional cheery freckle. Her nipples are rosy and peaked in the chill. He hesitates briefly before allowing his eyes to wander to the dark V of her curls, enticing pink flesh ever so tempting beneath.

“Mabel… you’re stunning,” he blurts honestly with a kiss, as he slides his hands down both her breasts and along the concavity of her slim stomach—silky, responsive as she breaks out into gooseflesh. He drops to his knees and gazes up into her radiant green eyes, pulling her hips forward to his lips.

She buries her hands suddenly in his curls when he tastes her sex for the first time, heady, salty, letting his tongue discover her secrets, confirmed by her moans and quavering knees. 

Finally she protests, “I don’t think I can stand much longer,” and he gathers her tiny body into his arms, carrying her like she’s made of air to their wedding bed.

He plops her in a pile of blankets and gently spreads her legs returning to his exploration of her, but this time insistent, urgent, hooking one long finger inside of her and then another, tonguing her relentlessly until she seizes around him and cries out, one hand gripped on his shoulder and the other flung over her mouth in an attempt at stifling her moan. She’s gasping when he joins her on the pillow and enwraps her in his strong arms.

“All right?” he kisses her forehead tenderly.

With a laugh, she nuzzles into his neck; he can feel her cheeks burning. “Far, far better than all right. None of my girlfriends prepared me for that!”

As he strokes his fingers through the soft curls obscuring her face, he simply says, “Well, I love you. And I want you to feel wonderful.”

“You’ve accomplished your goal.”

They spend a long moment kissing, as Tony shifts his weight on top of her, settling in the smooth cradle of her thighs.

He whispers, reaching down to guide himself against her softest flesh, “Tell me if it’s too fast.”

She nods and instantly winces. Trying to enter Mabel is like slamming against a brick wall. The space is impossibly tight. He tries very hard to massage his way inward with careful slowness, asking her several times if he should stop. She urges him on and on until finally he withdraws.

“Let’s try again in the morning, darling,” he pants, a drop of his sweat careening off his chin onto her breast.

“But I… I’ve failed. Is it possible to fail at sex? I thought it was the most natural thing in the world!”

Tony chuckles and kisses her. “Lovely Mabel, you haven’t failed. We’ve made plenty of progress for your first night. We have all the time in the world to make love. That’s precisely the reason for a honeymoon.” Tony shifts and lays his sex on her belly embarrassed at the way it twitches in need.

But Mabel only smiles and reaches down to lovingly hold it.

Gratefully, he rubs in the space of her chilly fingers and over the velvety skin of her stomach. He clasps his hands around hers to tighten her grip and finds himself spilling on her rather suddenly. He pants and braces himself with his right arm so that he doesn’t crush her in his release, closing his eyes against the blackness that engulfs him, his muscles ticking out his spasms.

When he opens his eyes on the way his seed has marred the porcelain canvas of her skin, it makes him feel peculiarly self-conscious. He rolls aside and wipes his brow, while she plunges back into his arms, grasping him around his middle, her cheek pressed against his thundering heart.

“Oh Tony, I don’t think I could ever get enough of this,” is the last thing she says to him before she drifts off peaceful and trusting in his arms.

Sleep doesn’t come easily to Tony since the war, and tonight is no exception. He clings to his new wife’s warm and soft body, timing his breaths to the gentle sounds of her slumber, but he feels unsettled and a bit lost, as he always does at night. Sometimes he’ll simply get up and read or wander the halls, but he doesn’t want to abandon Mabel on their wedding night. When he finally drifts, he’s terribly disappointed to be woken what feels seconds later by Mabel’s light hand on his bicep.

“Tony. We should get up soon, or we’ll miss our train.”

“Mmph,” Tony protests and rolls Mabel on top of him, her breasts a satisfying weight on his chest, her wiry curls pressed against his morning hardness.

“My. Perhaps we don’t have to get up just yet,” she smiles at his pout.

He runs his fingers down her back and rests both hands on her bottom. They kiss and rub skin on skin, until she reaches down to press him against her wetness. He pushes upwards. For a moment, it seems as if her body won’t give again, but it does and she falls forward against him, cheek pressed against his with a gasp.

In measured, gentle pulses Tony feels his wife from the inside, stroking her hair and soothing her with the occasional kiss, as her breath catches on little bits of pain and pleasure.  When he loses himself for the first time in her warmth, she pushes up on her hands to watch his face. He can’t prevent his eyes from slamming shut, but he smiles through the long, rapturous rush.

When he opens his eyes, he brushes back the hairs that have plastered to her forehead by sweat. “You look triumphant,” he chuckles.

“I did it!”

“You certainly did.” Tony allows his body melt down into the comfort of the bed and begins to drift again, still holding her loosely on top of him.

“No falling asleep, Tony! You can rest in me for a moment, but then we really must get up.”

…

Their first few days in Paris are comfortable and sweet. It’s snowy and frigid enough outside that they spend relatively little time walking the storybook streets—balconies bedecked with merry, green holly and foggy storefront windows. In the mornings they stay in bed, and in the afternoons, they venture out to a museum. Tony is taken with the new Musée Rodin; they spend a long moment ogling the ethereal marble of The Kiss, holding hands.

Tony continues to have a dreadful time sleeping without a proper outlet for his insomnia. One night before bed Mabel is rubbing lotion on her hands at the vanity, while Tony lies naked in bed propped on an arm, trying to imagine the rest of their lives together… so much fuzzier than his former vision of Mary and Downton.

Mabel says, “Darling, do you always have such difficulty sleeping at night?”

His reverie is broken. “I’m sorry. Have I disturbed you?”

“Not at all, only I wondered if having a bed companion might add to your troubles? I noticed it from our first night together and every night after.”

In short, Mabel noticed in one night what Mary hadn’t in five. “No, no. I haven’t slept well since… well in a great long while.”

“Were you going to say _since the war_?”

“It doesn’t matter. When we’re home we can keep separate beds if I agitate you.”

“Certainly not! I despise that old-fashioned nonsense. We shall always sleep together. You don’t bother me at all; I’m merely expressing concern for my husband.”

Mabel sheds her dressing gown, revealing a gauzy slip, and settles against his side beneath the blankets. He’s not sure how to respond when she kisses his shoulder and says to it, “I know people of good breeding don’t talk of suffering. But I hope you and I have evolved beyond that. If you should ever wish to talk, I will always wish to listen. Until then, I am grateful for the sacrifice you made and your pain.”

She simply turns over and, pulling him against her back, abruptly falls asleep. He’s left pondering where one would even begin talking of the war: all low-grade anxiety and boredom punctuated by sudden scrambles—diving into the churning sea after charred survivors from HMS _Invincible_ (the name that tempted fate). Men relying on him. Him relying on men. Everybody failing everyone else. It doesn’t even make sense to _him_.

…

On another morning, they’re eating breakfast off a shared tray, Mabel dusting croissant crumbs out of Tony’s morning stubble, as they sip at their coffee.

“I haven’t asked, but I suppose it’s apparent you’re not new to this,” Mabel offers steadily.

“To-?” Tony chokes a bit on the bitter black liquid.

“To sex.”

“Ah.” He clatters down the china cup. Perhaps he’s been waiting for this question all along. Perhaps he thought he’d escaped it. “No. I’m not.”

“I suppose it’s good that at least one of us has experience, but I can’t pretend I’m not curious… about your past.”

He feels her eyes on the side of his face but busies himself wiping up the coffee that has splashed from his cup. “I’ll tell you anything you’d like to know about it, Mabel, but… I wonder if it’s really wise. What purpose would it serve other than to make you unhappy?”

“Jealous, you mean?”

Tony nods.

“So you did have sex with her. With Mary.”

He sighs and faces Mabel, sheets catching around his hips like a net. “I did. Yes.”

“I… I don’t know why it bothers me so.”

“Well, of course it does. And it should. I regret it, Mabel. I regret so many things with Mary. I couldn’t enumerate them if I wanted to, only it tortures me. But I feel it’s important you know it wasn’t some wanton fling… I thought, I really _believed_ at the time, that she was going to marry me. I was a fool in retrospect, but I believed it.”

“You’re an honorable man, Tony. I know you wouldn’t sleep with a lady casually.”

“Well, it certainly was not casual to me.”

“But I must admit I hate her a little for it. For misleading you. For getting you first. Am I allowed this little resentment?”

“Of course you are. I’m very sorry to hurt you with it. I feel as though you should hate _me_ equally to Mary. It’s as much my fault. _More_ really.”

“I could never hate you. And she’s the seductress.”

“No, no. I asked her to.”

“I don’t care. You asked because you were desperate to woo her, because she’d led you on for two years, had convinced you to give _me_ up in the process!” Mabel’s a bit breathless in her fury, a new side of her for Tony.

Tony swallows audibly. “I asked because I was an idiot—blind to reality and made impatient by waiting.”

“But it was only the once?”

“No, not just once. We… we met in secret for nearly a week. It was a considerable affair, Mabel.”

“So you gave yourself completely to her, and she unceremoniously discarded you.” Mabel’s eyes unfocus in the direction of the frosty window. “Well I could use a bit of a walk to process this. Alone, if that’s all right.”

And so Tony’s left cold in bed, their half-eaten breakfast scattered before him, as Mabel dresses hastily and disappears outside into the hazy gray. Tony thinks of reading the newspaper the maid has brought in, but the words swim in his vision. Instead he builds a fire and spends hours staring out the window onto wet-slicked streets where women and children are bundled, bustling. They must be near a school. When it begins to snow, he throws open the window and lets the light flakes collect in his hair and eyelashes.

The consuming emptiness inside him is not what he envisioned for beginning his new life as a married man. He was very childish, wasn’t he, to invest so much hope in an ideal? Immature, unmanly. Griped by familiar queasiness he tries to steer himself away from that line of thought, because it always leads him back to the fact that he had no stomach for war. He pulled out so many bodies from the ocean under fire that he won a medal for bravery—terrible irony when he was such a dreadful coward at heart, who’d trembled at the thought of harming another man. He’s still not sure he could have done it had he been called upon to kill. That medal is hidden in a drawer. The mere sight of it makes him sick.

Tony closes the double window and plops before the fire on an armchair, sinking low, letting his impeccable posture crumble. Mabel has been gone for so long. Perhaps she’s through with him. Perhaps they’ll spend their married lives pretending for the outside world that they’re fine, when really he’s ruined everything before it’s begun. He should have told Mabel before, so she knew the kind of man she was marrying. He wasn’t fair to her. If she gives him the chance he’ll tell her that.

A key in the door and the knob turns. He sits up straight because he’s done enough to compromise Mabel’s view of him as a gentleman for one day. He wishes he’d thought to dress, but he’s still in his robe and pajamas.

“Tony. I would have guessed you’d gone out by now.”

“I… I didn’t want to miss your return.” It comes out in a rush: “Mabel, I’m so sorry. I should have told you before we married. You must think me such a-”

She raises her hand to silence him, as she discards her sodden boots and coat and crosses the room to lay her hand on his curls. “Dearest, how is your hair wet?”

“Hm? Oh, I leaned out the window to see the snow.”

Her eyes crinkle, and she bends down to kiss him. “The error was mine, Tony. I shouldn’t have asked what I knew would only hurt me. The past is past. I’m not angry with you. Perhaps a bit with her, but that will fade. You’re my husband now. I get you all to myself.”

She sits in his lap as she did on their wedding night and kisses his lips. She tastes of hot, toasty chocolate. He kisses her more deeply, eyes fluttering shut, as he rubs her cools fingers in his to warm them. Finally, he pulls back.

“Mabel, you are far more patient and understanding than I deserve.”

“You say that when I abandoned you for more than two hours on our honeymoon after I pried the truth out of you despite your warning?” She shakes her head. He kisses her fingers. “I’m glad you haven’t changed out of your robe. It’s too miserable to go out. Let’s begin this day again.”

Tony snuggles against her neck and inhales the sweet spice there. Begin again indeed.


End file.
